At some point in life, you look around, left, right, ahead, behind, and you find that you stand alone. Not exactly alone on an issue or anything, just alone. Overall. You scream but no one replies. You ask but no one answers. You cry, you tear yourself inside and out searching for anything that attaches you to anybody, just some connection with anyone to make you feel needed, wanted, alive even.

When I had Papa I let petty things bother me. Friends…Friends…Friends….yes, to me they are petty things. Because now that Papa is gone everything to me is petty. Everything that bothered me back then to everything that bothers me now…is petty. I cry not because things bother me…but because things bother me and Papa is not there to make it better. I can’t see his smile…I can’t see his face. His arms can’t hug me. I can’t cry into his chest. His ears can no longer hear my complaints, my worries, my misgivings…My lack of confidence is met with emptiness…my need to feel liked remains unsatisfied. Calls to mother end in guilt and feelings of stupidity. “Why didn’t you do it yet? Can’t you do it yourself? Why bother me at work?” Calls to Otouto meet annoyance. “I have better things to do than entertain an older sister. I have homework. Games. Actual real friends.” Calls to the two of them end with bruised knuckles. Wrapped fingers. My poor beaten up car!

Of course…life isn’t always like that. Sometimes Mother makes small conversation that makes everything sound dandy. Otouto plays games with me, teaches me dance moves…they both put up with me. But if I were to disappear the next day, what effect would if make? I’d go, my tears would leave with me. My ugly face. My fat body. My shallow and superficial needs.

Needs that a simple touch can fulfill. I don’t mean like…an actual touch. I mean like…a touch, to “remind me who I am” (Stanley Kunitz, “Touch Me”…about something different and yet the same)…to show that I’m still alive inside my hard assed drained body.

I visited Papa today. I looked down and I tried to imagine him smiling in heaven…but all I could picture was his skeleton…then his body…under that dirt and it was the worst. He was so lifeless…so far away from me. When Papa was alive I remember once Mother comforted me when Papa upset me a lot. At other times…Papa comforted me. Most of the time I comforted myself. Like, literally, told myself things were OK and such. Now that Papa’s gone I start to realize that with Papa, words weren’t need to comfort me. All I needed from him was a smile, a look, and I would be OK. Now I get nothing. I mean…I told myself this before but I never really got it. I never will. How can you really understand the loss of someone like that? Not just your father, but the basis of your sanity.

I told myself that Papa is no longer here anymore. No matter how much I talk to myself…try to claw myself out of reality and be wholesome again…it’ll never work. It’ll never change. I’ll always be missing a part of my soul. I told myself that Papa could no longer comfort me…smile and look at me and make things perfect…but still I only really realize it when I stand up, look around, and see no one. Hear no one. Feel no one. People walk by me…they stop…look at me…talk to me…play with me…do things with me…and it all means nothing to me.

When one loses someone…what’s the best thing to do? Cry? Mourn? It’s been over a year…is it time to get over it yet? Is there ever a time? When do you feel less lonely? When…or can…you find someone to replace that impact that that loss had on your heart?

When Papa passed, I realized it was time to solve my own problems. Pick myself up. Dry my own tears. But that thought never stuck with me. I waited and waited…and my stupid self will probably always be half waiting…for someone else to help me.

When is it time to really dry your own tears? And when you do…have you ended your attachment to everyone else in the world? Or are you just temporarily making up for a lack? What is it for me?